Author's Note: Well, I was going to work on a novel this summer, but instead here's another chapter of this. Enjoy!
"So before that happens let's have some fun." Dean grinned and began to untie the knot by which he had been holding Castiel. The strip of blue fabric fell away. With a flick of the wrist, Dean let the trench coat slide from Castiel's shoulders to pool on the ground.
"Dean, please," Castiel breathed as Dean's hand, occupied with the buttons of his shirt, brushed his bare chest. "This is not you."
Those black eyes flashed. "Oh but Cas, it is me. This is the new Dean Winchester and believe me, I know you've imagined this before."
It wasn't entirely untrue. In the same way his heart had jumped irrationally, traitorously at the touch of Dean's lips on his, it did so again, and there was a faint stirring in his gut, urging him on. He licked his lips nervously.
Dean smiled. "See Cas, you can't hide it!" His hands began to fiddle with Castiel's fly.
It was at that moment that, despite the insidious stirring in his belly, Castiel began to form a plan by which he might escape. He very carefully did not look at the knife at Dean's waist. He continued to stare, with fear and desperation into his old friend's face. It wasn't a forced look; he still hoped he could get out of this by appealing to the man.
"Dean," he pleaded, "Do you remember how you died?"
Dean's hands paused, his fingertips brushing slightly the thin fabric of Castiel's boxers. "Of course I remember. You screwed up, I tried to save you. Then I got killed." That voice was rough as sandpaper and seemed to tear at Castiel's heart. How he wished he could end this conversation; let Dean undress him. But he knew how that would end, and he did not want to die. He needed to stall just long enough to get his sex drive under control.
He stared into those dark, demonic eyes, trespassers in Deans soft face. But they weren't trespassers. They were all that was left. "Dean, you died for me, doesn't that mean something?"
The demon -Dean- pursed his lips. "Quit stalling Cas."
"I'm not-"
But then Dean's hand was against Castiel's thigh, tight against his boxers, and it was too soon and his breath caught in his throat and all his plans slipped away and something between his legs, something he had never given much care to before, responded to the touch.
"You can't stall the inevitable forever, Cas." Dean's voice and Dean's hand were the only real things in the world. "I thought I could escape Hell, but look at me now. And you, you just won't stop dying. You can't get out of it this time."
Get a hold of yourself! Castiel scolded himself internally. He struggled for breath, for clarity. He still had to escape; he could not let Dean have his way. He might be human, he might be weak, but he wanted to live.
"Dean," he allowed a note of weakness to slip into his voice, and in the same breath he fell a little closer to the hunter.
The demon grinned widely. "I knew you'd come around Cas," he half shoved, half helped Castiel to the bed. "Even now I'm a generous guy, I just couldn't bare to let you die a virgin."
Dean, satisfied it seemed, that Castiel was going nowhere, turned his attention away in order to take off his shirt. That was all the time Castiel needed to prepare himself. His head was clear, his muscles tense. Now was his only chance at saving himself, and, if he was lucky, Dean too.
And then, despite being human, despite being only in his boxers, despite the feelings of desire that still tried to assert themselves, Castiel leapt into action.